Anger and You

“Anger is the punishment we give ourselves for someone else’s actions.”

I came across this line in an article, and the author went on to describe how drained they felt once the anger finally cooled down. I wondered how universal this experience is — and how few of us understand what’s actually happening inside us. It made me rethink my own relationship with anger.

Anger is a natural signal that something important feels threatened or disrespected. It rises fast, hits hard, and often leaves us exhausted. That’s because, for a moment, the older “reptile” part of the brain — our survival system — takes over. Clear thinking, empathy, and perspective momentarily step aside.

I once couldn’t handle my anger during my high school, and that kept us apart for a decade.

When anger is left to simmer, it turns inward — draining our energy, tightening the body, and often hurting us more than the original trigger.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.
If we can stay just a little aware in the heat of the moment, the emotion passes without doing further damage. Even a small shift in awareness can soften the entire moment. A few simple concepts like the following can be helpful:

• Pause and breathe. A slow breath interrupts the rush and gives the mind a few seconds to return online.

• Notice your patterns. Certain tones, expectations, or situations trigger us again and again. Awareness softens the impact.

• Reframe the story. A small shift in interpretation can lower the emotional temperature almost instantly.

Managing anger isn’t about suppressing feelings — it’s about protecting our energy, our clarity, and our relationships. It’s choosing where our attention goes instead of letting emotions steer the entire day.

Start small.
A single pause.
A single breath.

A single belief: I can choose my response.

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The Second Chance We Want

 

Sitting alone, contemplating how life has and is treating me, I remembered an old story. A person facing what we often call a “midlife crisis” went to a monk. He complained about all the decisions he felt he had failed to take, about how miserable his life had become. He wished he could wake up at 22 and start all over.

The perspective the monk offered made a huge impact on me.

He said:

"If you’re 41 and feeling sad that you can’t wake up as a 22-year-old again, try this instead."

Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Feel your lungs expand, feel the air entering your nose. Now, imagine — just for a few moments — that you are 85.

Feel the weight of those years — the slower body, the absence of people you once loved, the conversations you never had, the apologies you never made, the love you didn’t express enough. Let the regrets rise: the chances you didn’t take, the relationships you let fade, the moments you were too distracted to notice.

Sit with that version of yourself for a while — you will soon feel the 85-year-old you wishing for one more ordinary day at 41.

And then, in this little thought experiment, you go to sleep with all those feelings.

Then you wake up… you are 41 again.
Not older.
Not drained.
Not running out of time.

You suddenly, miraculously, have the next 44 years back in your hands- maybe little less, or little more.

So you ask yourself:

• What would I do differently?

• What would matter more?

• Whom would I call?

• What would I finally stop postponing?

The monk’s point was simple:

You may never be 22 again, but you can absolutely be someone your 85-year-old self would be grateful for.

We keep longing for a second chance — without realizing we already have one.

It just begins at 41, not at 22.

Today’s Overwhelming World and Me

 

Photo by Anna Tarazevich

On one side, there is another human eagerly waiting to replace us, and on the other, there is AI trying to take over our tasks. Working in today’s world is not for the faint-hearted. We’ve lived through this reality for years — long schedules, impossible timelines, constant firefighting, shifting expectations, and pressure that rarely lets up.

The construction industry may traditionally stand at the top when it comes to burnout rates, but I have a doubt that software professionals are under extra stress these days.

Every profession now demands emotional endurance, mental resilience, and stress management. Burnout is no longer an exception — it must be managed actively, and whenever possible, proactively.

A simple exercise can help relieve stress:
Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Feel your lungs expand, feel the air entering your nose. Now, watch your thoughts. See where they go.

Within moments, the mind drifts into the past or the future. It latches onto a memory, a worry, a plan — anything but the present moment. Keep bringing the wandering mind back to the present. Make it sit and accept the present, with the quiet understanding that the universe has plans for everyone.

There is a second — and far more reliable — path to contentment: learning to want and appreciate what we already have. Situations, materials, experiences — anything and everything. The world will always give us reasons to feel inadequate. Our work will always demand more.

But peace… peace comes only from one place: a mind trained to return to presence, and understand that nothing is permanent — good times, bad times, and for that matter, life itself.

Why I Can’t Multitask Anymore

 

Photo by Christina Morillo

There was a time when I thought I could multitask without even thinking about it. I could listen to something fascinating, read at the same time, even write a few thoughts in between. 

But now? 

The moment my ears are engaged, everything else seems to shut down. I can’t read. I can barely write. It’s as if I’ve slowly turned into a single-tasking person.

At first, this bothered me. I wondered if I was losing a part of myself — the part that used to juggle so many inputs so naturally. But the moment I start comparing myself to my own past experiences, I can never be sure whether those earlier abilities were facts or illusions. Memory is a storyteller, not always a historian. So I dug a little deeper and ended up with a narrative that actually comforted me.

Cognitive science says this is completely normal. The tendency for our attention and cognitive resources to become tightly focused when our hearing is actively engaged is rooted in our evolutionary biology — particularly the importance of sound for early threat detection. Our ancestors survived by reacting quickly to noises around them, and our brain still gives hearing the first priority. When the ears take over, the rest of the system naturally quiets down.

And maybe that’s not a flaw.
Maybe that’s my mind choosing depth over noise.
Maybe that’s my system saying, “Focus on one thing. Be present in the moment.”

The more I think about it, the more I realise: single-tasking isn’t a decline — it’s a refinement. It’s an invitation to do fewer things, but with more honesty and more attention. And perhaps that’s the real evolution — not the ability to do everything, but the courage to do one thing well.

So yes, my ears may overpower everything else now. But maybe they’re not interrupting my life — maybe they’re guiding me back to it.

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The Seven Habits That Quietly Push People Away

Photo by cottonbro studio

Ever wonder what truly sets us apart in this vast animal kingdom — why we love to speak, and why some people draw listeners in while others quietly push them away? It’s our ability to articulate our stories, views, and ideas with clarity and warmth that makes us interesting to others. Sometimes we speak with purpose, sometimes out of habit, and often just to fill the silence. Some conversations build bridges, while others quietly burn them.

Most people will not tell me if my presence doesn’t add value — they may tolerate me out of courtesy. But our ambition should never be to be tolerated; it should be to inspire, to uplift, to enlighten, and to leave others feeling a little more fulfilled at the end of a conversation.

And when we aren’t speaking outward, we’re speaking inward. That constant inner dialogue can drain us just as much as any unhelpful conversation with another person.

When we introspect, and try to understand what makes us unpopular with others or unsettled even when alone, seven traits consistently show up:

Gossip — the “just between us” whisper that feels irresistible. Yet every listener runs the same silent calculation: If they speak this way about others, how do they speak about me? Gossip is cheap entertainment, and nobody respects the entertainer.

Judging — the quickest way to shut a door without touching it. A judgmental tone turns a moment of connection into a performance review.

Negativity — the slow leak that deflates every room. It’s the habit of noticing what’s missing before acknowledging what exists.

Complaining — it sounds like communication, but it rarely creates change. We’re remembered not for what frustrated us, but for what we tried to improve.

Excuses — they soften us, protect us, and sometimes even justify us, but they insult the intelligence of the listener. People forgive mistakes far quicker than avoidance.

Lying — a countdown timer on credibility. Every lie requires maintenance: explanations, memory, and effort.

Dogmatism — when being right becomes more important than being wise. The silence that follows such conversations isn’t peace; it’s people deciding not to return.

In a world where everyone is speaking, the real distinction isn’t volume — it’s value. Confidence is admirable, but flexibility is magnetic. Being open doesn’t weaken belief; it strengthens understanding.

Remove gossip, judgment, excuses, and unnecessary cynicism, and what remains is a voice worth hearing — clear, honest, thoughtful, and generous. Because communication isn’t about proving we can speak; it’s about giving others a reason to listen.

Before Love and Hate

Photo by Max Ravier

Staring at this prompt inviting bloggers to list a few things I love or hate, I found myself at a loss. I wasn’t ready to dig through the past to pick up moments I once loved or hated, nor am I willing to hedge my future peace for this exercise. What remains then is the present continuous — but I just posted my list of eleven things that make me happy, so that door is closed for now. [Linked here]

Love or hate — I’ve stopped entertaining rumination about extreme emotions these days. If my disasters upset me or my triumphs lift me too high, then, like Kipling warned, they are both imposters I no longer want to trust. That realization keeps me steady more often than not.

Instead of revisiting old emotions for the sake of this prompt, I find myself wondering how and why we categorise experiences as love or hate in the first place. Some we announce loudly, some we bury quietly, and yet in both cases their roots run deeper than we notice.

When I look inward, the forces that still tug at my emotions are memory, fear, and desire.

Memory shapes reactions long before I am aware of it happening. A familiar fragrance softens me because it carries home, and a place can still unsettle me because it holds an old echo. Much of what I feel today is simply the past walking alongside me.

Fear arrives unannounced and shifts how I read the world. It freezes thought, magnifies loss, and convinces me that vulnerability is somehow dangerous. Some feelings grow sharper simply because fear is speaking a little louder underneath.

Desire quietly pulls the strings too, guiding me toward meaning, belonging, and validation. The haves and the have-nots inside me directly map to those same needs.

And then there are the forces outside us that keep stirring things up — society’s noise through social media, society’s expectations in daily life, and society’s unpredictable encounters that catch us off guard. Each one nudges the emotional compass decisively.

I no longer wish to drag the past into today, nor do I want tomorrow’s shadows troubling me before they appear. The aspiration is to live in the present within emotional guardrails that protect me from both inner and outer triggers. Maybe the real strength lies in mindful living — and keeping a healthy distance from the forces that rush to categorise or box our life events into love, hate, or anything else.

It isn’t easy — it’s a challenging trail — and I’m just an ordinary person learning as I go. Let’s take this path one step at a time toward mindful living.

☕ Enjoy the Coffee, Not the Cup

Yesterday, in Look Beyond the Looks [Click Here], we reflected on how beauty often clouds our empathy — how we tend to value what’s pleasant to the eye more than what truly matters. Today, let’s explore a similar truth about how appearances influence our sense of happiness.

We humans are wired to understand best through stories, and this old one captures the essence perfectly.

Once upon a time, a group of alumni — all well-settled in their careers — visited their old university professor. The conversation soon drifted toward life and work, filled with complaints about stress, pressure, and the endless chase for balance.

Listening patiently, the professor excused himself to the kitchen. He wanted to serve them coffee — just as he had done years ago when these same students stayed up late, dreaming big, debating endlessly, and sketching plans for the future.

But there was one problem: he didn’t have enough shiny mugs. So he returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups — porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain-looking, some expensive, some exquisite — and invited everyone to help themselves.

When each of them had picked a cup, the professor smiled and said,
“If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken up first, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. It’s only natural to want the best for yourselves — but that very instinct is the source of your stress.”

He paused, letting the thought sink in.

“What you truly wanted was coffee, not the cup. Yet you consciously went for the best cups and even glanced at what others had chosen. Life is the same. Life itself is the coffee — the jobs, money, and social positions are just cups. They’re only tools to hold Life, and they don’t change its quality. But by focusing too much on the cup, we forget to enjoy the coffee inside.”

He ended softly,
“So, don’t let the cups drive you — enjoy the coffee instead.”

It’s a story that never gets old because its truth doesn’t either. In our pursuit of the best-looking “cup,” we often overlook the simple joy of living — the aroma, warmth, and taste of life itself.

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🔗 Read Reflect Rejoice

The Woman by the Window

 

Photo Courtesy

Sometimes we wake up with a strange unease — a hollow feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen.
Some say the body senses trouble before the mind does.
Daniel’s left eye had been twitching since morning.
He wasn’t a superstitious man, but when life is in turmoil, even reason looks for omens.

On another day, he would’ve shrugged it off — determined to make a bad morning better as the day went on.
But not today.

All night, Daniel had simmered from a bitter argument with his ex-wife — the kind that replays long after the words end.
“There’s so much in common between evil and Eve,” he muttered when she’d shown up that morning — with her new partner.

His thoughts were sharp, restless. To escape them, he drove without direction, trying to reassure himself that “the world isn’t ending — there must still be kind, rational people out there.”

After an hour of aimless driving, he spotted a small café glowing with warm morning light. For a moment, he thought a cup of coffee might calm the storm inside him.

Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and quiet — two things Daniel felt he no longer understood.
He told himself, “This will be a happy day. No matter what.”

He sat near the counter, ordered coffee, and noticed the room — a mix of college students on laptops, friends chatting softly before work.
All men, he realized.
Maybe that’s why it felt so peaceful.

And then, he saw her.
A woman sat by the window, reading a book, utterly at peace.
There was something infuriating about her calmness — as if life itself had placed her there to mock him, to remind him of all the grace he’d lost.

Before he could stop himself, he said aloud, his voice cutting through the café:
“Today,” he declared loudly, “is the first day of the rest of my life! Coffee and muffins for everyone — except that woman!”

The waiter blinked, unsure if he’d heard right.
But Daniel’s face left no room for questions.

Moments later, the café hummed with quiet delight. Trays of muffins appeared on tables — for everyone except her.

The woman looked up from her book. Their eyes met. And then, to his surprise — she smiled.
“Thank you,” she said gently.

Daniel felt irritation rise. He was expecting her to react the way his wife would have.
“Fine! Add pastries for everyone — except her!”

Again, the woman smiled. Again, she said, “Thank you.”

Confusion replaced anger. Maybe all women aren’t the same, he thought to himself.
He got up and approached the window, half-demanding, half-pleading,
“What’s wrong with you, lady? I keep excluding you, and you keep thanking me!”

The waiter, who had stepped closer anticipating trouble, leaned in and said softly, with a knowing smile,
“She’s not upset, sir. She owns this café.”

Daniel froze.
For a second, the air itself seemed to laugh. Then, a chuckle escaped him — the first in weeks.

“I do own the café,” she said softly. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve learned not to lose my inner peace just because someone else has lost theirs. My peace is my own.”

Sometimes life holds up a mirror in the strangest ways.
We strike out at others to soothe our own pain — and life gently shows us how foolish that is.

He looked at her once more and, for the first time, saw that she looked nothing like his ex-wife.
She was simply a woman by the window — and he, perhaps, was finally ready to heal.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my story. I hope it left you with a moment of reflection — do visit again for more such tales of life and perspective.

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🌿 Read Reflect Rejoice